


Sweet

by toastyboi



Category: Homestuck
Genre: It's raining, Little Dialogue, M/M, its pretty domestic, johns big and hairy and daves a fucking green bean, morning smooches/cuddling, there's so much sappy shit in here im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 00:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7954363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toastyboi/pseuds/toastyboi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>its gay<br/>tumblr is doopfrog !!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet

You can't help but feel like mornings were meant to be like this.

Clouds make the sky look gray, which for you is a terribly calming color. Rain hitting the window with soft pats accompanied by the soft click of the heater, but the heat doesn't even bother to reach you in the bathroom. The cold porcelain of your inevitably chipped and quite nasty sink pressed gently up against your abdomen, resting comfortably (or somewhat not-so-comfortably in your case) on the spot just below your rib cage, your hand making a back and forth motion as you try to brush the goddamned nasty morning breath off of your teeth, while someone else's hands rest against your sides.

At first a surprise like that would have been unnerving, but you've learned to get used to it. His delicate piano fingers tap in a pattern against your hip that you're definitely too tired to recognize, but still somehow manage to make a beat to, but only in your head. His lips find their way to the back of your neck despite having to crouch down some to do it, pressing lazy, sweet kisses there until they latch onto the curve of your neck. You're not sure what he's doing though you think you may have an idea, but your thoughts are interrupted by the most obnoxiously large raspberry you've witnessed. This causes to sputter out a laugh, toothbrush dropping into that nasty sink, and toothpaste that had been in your mouth now against the wall.

One of your hand retreats to your mouth to try to regain some of your dignity as a chest is pressed against your back (god he has so much hair), vibrating heavily with laughter from your boyfriend of whom you are not so impressed with right now. Your opposite arm bends and jerks back in attempt to hit his side, but he catches you even though he's still fucking laughing. He doesn't apologize, only wrapping those (hairy yet somehow terribly attractive) sasquatch arms around your entirety, pushing his smile into your hair. He leaves another kiss there which makes you physically unable to be mad at him for much longer, though the second incredibly sweet kiss to your temple is what gets you.

It always fucking does.

"M'making coffee," he mumbles, arms giving an affectionate squeeze around you. His voice is deep in his chest, low and laced with tiredness and _fuck_ it sends a shiver up your spine that he luckily doesn't catch since his mouth is too busy assaulting the side of your head and face with more (maybe slightly apologetic) kisses. You lean back against him while your arm tries, and manages, to wiggle free from its muscular, fleshy prison. You have to bend back just slightly to allow your fingers to run through his hair, twirling delicately along the strands that definitely aren't washed. You give them a light tug which brings a snort of amusement out of him before you go back to playing with it.

"Work day?"

"Mmmno, home day."

"Good. I'll make Eggo or somethin'. Now get off of me Bigfoot, I had a commitment prior to your meaty claws assaulting me with their deceivingly spicy touches."

He doesn’t need any more encouragement since the promise of Eggos is enough to get this eggo ready and roaring for anything. He does leave you with one more small peck, but you’re not in a position to return it what with grossly minty toothpaste splattered against the wall, and the entirety of your mouth. As he walks out, you take the time to rinse off your mouth and your toothbrush, spitting not only once, but twice into the sink just so you can prepare yourself. You have a feeling that today is going to be a smooches kind of day.

The rain’s still falling.

You don’t have shades on. That’s something you’ve grown to normalize now that you’re living with John. He loves your eyes which you deeply and unironically appreciate, and the compliments he gives you on them never fail to make you feel at least 1% better than you had been feeling, even if your mood was at its pinnacle. The cloudy weather helps your photophobia incredibly, but you still scout around to make sure no harsh lights were on that could potentially fry your delicate baby eyes. The only danger would be to look directly at your boyfriend, because as your thirteen year old self would have said, “he is my light, bro”.

That’s actually pretty accurate. You can’t help but think over the fact that you’d probably not be as happy as you were right now had it not been for that fucking goofball. Something makes your chest tighten in the way it always does when you start to remember you love your boyfriend so fucking much, though it tightens probably too much, and then you realize it’s your body’s way of saying you really need to burp. You let this loud one out resulting in a ‘nasty!’ coming from the kitchen. Right, John’s making coffee. You figure you should probably go in there, you did promise Eggos.

You waste no more time in getting into the kitchen, your fatigue-encrusted eyes locking onto the  larger figure hovering over the pot of coffee. You make your way over, your forehead only touching his shoulders at this point, but you work with it. Your own lanky green-bean arms curl around his waist, minty-fresh mouth pressing a sweet kiss to his shoulder. He gives an appreciative hum as you allow your cheek to press against said shoulder, just kinda taking this in. You don’t move for a while, you just stand there and feel the movements of his chest as he breathes, or the shifting of his arms as he makes the coffee in the exact way you love. He does that without fail every damn morning.

A loud growl from his stomach and a huff of laughter from you is what interrupts this damn near movie-perfect moment. Yeah, it’s definitely time for breakfast. You give his side a light pat as you move over to the freezer, grabbing the box of those surprisingly yellow-colored waffles, picking out the last two from the container. That’s less than you guys normally eat, but you’re not that hungry anyways. You pop those babies in the toaster oven, grabbing two paper plates from the cupboard, two perfectly normal forks, and two paper napkins. Truly fancy.

The eating scene with you two is never pretty, but you like to think that it’s still fun. He drinks his coffee first while you eat your waffle, syrup getting on the table and coffee inevitably ending up on your lap. You clean it up, he apologizes, and you two end in agreement that he clears the table while you get the bed ready for one whole day of sitting with each other and not bothering to do anything.

The bed isn’t that messed up so it doesn’t take a lot of time to make it neat again. You change out of your now soggy pajama pants and slide into a pair of your (John’s) boxers, giving a small sigh as you remember that he’s got hips for days and these things sag lower than necessary. Whatever, you don’t really care. You simply slide into the bed, getting comfortable just as John is entering the room. He slides in next to you and you quickly find yourself pressed against his side, head gently resting on his chest as his hand securely places itself on your hip.

The television is clicked on by the remote that ended up on his side, something on there playing about the death of some gorilla of which you can’t really pay attention to since his fucking soft as hell lips have yet again found their way to your jaw. You don’t take it this time though, shifting your head so that your lips are now firmly pressed together. He gets the idea and pulls back a bit so you two can situate yourself, lips locking together again. It’s slow, sweet, barely even having to do anything other than move your own mouth in tandem with his.

He’s affectionately rubbing patterns at your hip, hand beginning to slowly slide up until it was cupping your cheek. Your own arm lazily drapes around his side, pulling him closer until you both were successfully pressed together, chests touching and legs tangled with one another. His fingers brush up against your neck and you _giggle_ , you fucking _giggle,_ but he just soaks it up. The kisses are still gentle and slow, easing you into a slightly hazy state of mind.

Only do you jolt back to reality when you feel his opposite hand touch the waistband of your boxers

  
Definitely a good way to spend the morning.


End file.
